


Seat Rep

by varjohaltija



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Established Relationship, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-24
Updated: 2014-05-24
Packaged: 2018-01-26 08:39:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1681982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/varjohaltija/pseuds/varjohaltija
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Couples often have disagreements over furnishing -  and the thing Clint has bought now is definitely ugly enough to cause some friction. Then again, looks aren't everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seat Rep

**Author's Note:**

> I could not have done this without wonderful [cristinuke](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Cristinuke), who not only encouraged me to write, but gave me tips in getting on with it and also beta'ed the work without asking. Absolute treasure, that's what she is. ♥ 
> 
> It's totally her fault this work ever gets posted :), but all the mistakes are mine.

"What on Earth is that!?” Phil is staring at the … thing next to their bed. Thing is probably a piece of furniture of some kind…quite likely a chair. It is bright red and has metallic things sticking out of it. It reminds him, in some deeply disturbing way, of the dentist and he already starts feeling sorry for himself. Next to the monstrosity, Clint is beaming. The last time Phil had seen him so proud was when he had managed to drop Tony out of the air with a single shot. Obviously Clint loved whatever this was. Oh, fuck.

“Haven’t you already learned not to assemble IKEAstuff without instructions? There are places for improvisation and furniture is not one of them.” Phil is withholding a nervous laugh and tries to be nice. After all, he wanted Clint to feel that this was his home too and make it look like his. And nowadays Clint was the one spending most time here anyway. So far, Clint’s ideas of style had not clashed too badly with his. This might.

Clint steps closer, all mischievous, crooked smile and dark pupils “I know it looks hideous but it will be SO much fun” he says pressing his lips to Phil’s neck and sucking. For a moment all that Phil can concentrate on, is the heat that blooms in his groin with the mere kiss. How Clint could possibly make him so horny, so easily after all these years, was beyond him. “Umm, I believe you, but what is that, really? ” he manages, although he can’t stop his voice from getting bit breathy.

“It’s a sex chair.” Phil can feel Clint grinning against his skin, “It’s supposed to help you to get into some positions more easily.” He continues to nibble along the line of Phil’s jaw. All Phil is able to do is grunt because Clint is pressing against him, body warm and firm, grinding slowly and deliberately, and fuck, how can he be so hard already?

Now, Agent Coulson could work coherently in any situation, but Phil Coulson is just a man – and no man could possibly be expected to be the slightest bit interested in discussing interior design when Clint Barton drops onto his knees in front of him and nuzzles his erection through pants while expertly unbuckling the belt without even looking.

When it’s time to step out of his pants, Phil has already got rid of his jacket, unbuttoned his shirt, and is trying to take it away, but Clint stops him. “I like it when you have it on.” Clint runs his hands on the shirt lapels and licks his lips, lewd smirk spreading across his face. “It reminds me of happy moments.” Phil knows exactly what Clint means: all those times they’ve fooled around in the office, or during the missions, or lately, in the Bus. The risk of getting caught is certainly a thing for Clint. Getting Phil to come on his dress shirt is also a thing for Clint. So shirt and undershirt stay on. And today also a tie, because this one isn’t handmade.

Phil is almost manhandled to the chair. It is cool against his skin, but comfortable. Phil tries to figure out how it works. It has several adjustable footholds, and attached to the armrests there are long upright handles, obviously not meant for the one sitting in the chair, but for someone standing in front of it or – and realisation makes Phil's cock twitch – sitting on the lap of the seated person. Clint has efficiently got rid of his clothes and is now stroking Phil's neck. “Like it?” Clint pulls the lever on the side and chair rises so that it’s at the height of Clint’s hips.

“I don’t think I have enough intelligence to decide that yet.” He definitely deserves the gentle tug of his hair as Clint leans over him, pulls him closer with his tie and whispers into his ear with dark and gravely voice, “Well, I guess we’ll have to provide you some, then.” Clint gives Phil one quick, hard kiss before lowering himself between Phil’s legs.

Clint licks the length of his cock and Phil cannot help letting out a groan when nimble lips envelope the head of his penis and tongue swirls around it. And then he is totally engulfed and Clint starts steady rhythm, while fondling his balls at the same time. Phil starts panting, lying his head against the head rest and debating whether he should look down and risk coming – just imagining Clint devouring him is almost too much and he is already involuntarily bucking and unable to stop himself from gripping hard on Clint's hair. 

He glances down and, oh god, there is Clint, looking straight up, cock slipping in and out of his mouth, obscene and beautiful. Phil wants to say something and manages only a breathless whine. Clint grins and lets his cock slip out, lets it bounce against Phil’s stomach, throbbing, wet and glistening from saliva. Clint kisses his thigh and gently lifts his feet to the upper supports, spreading his legs wide. Phil thinks he should feel exposed and vulnerable, but he is just open and willing, because Clint is trailing kisses and tiny bites along his legs and thighs, stroking him way too gently and slowly - every inch of him feels like it's burning, he's aching hard and strung with want. “Please... ” He doesn’t care if he sounds a bit desperate. Because he is.

Clint chuckles and keeps on kissing all the wrong, and yet so right, places. He finally stops stroking Phil, takes the lube and starts spreading him open instead. Phil keens, because fuck, it feels so good when Clint eases two fingers inside and twists them, simultaneously pushing them further inside. It's just the right amount of burn and stretch, just right…and not quite enough. Phil is pressing against them, because he wants more and harder. Clint’s mouth trails upwards and Phil bucks, seeking more contact, hoping for attention on his dick but Clint doesn’t touch him, instead just keeps working him open with steady thrusts and scissoring fingers. Clint pushes his undershirt up, kissing his stomach and chest and fuuuuck, he scratches Phil’s nipple same time as he hits his prostate. “Dammit Clint! Just fuck me already!” Phil grabs the muscular arms and hauls Clint up for a messy kiss. He gives a bit more teeth than usual, and draws blood.

Clint pulls back with a half-surprised yelp, “Man, you're so goddamn bossy.” Clint’s tone is mocking, but he doesn’t really seem to mind too much, because he is smiling on top of Phil now, licking and worrying his injured lip, and how he can make it look so dirty and hot, Phil just doesn’t understand. In no time, Phil is licking into Clint’s mouth, tasting iron, grabbing Clint’s ass and drawing him closer. Clint’s hands card through Phil’s hair, cock heavy and hard and hot against Phil’s. Part of Phil wants to just stay here like this, but that part is very quiet and gets gagged and thrown into the dungeon when Clint pushes against him, pressing their groins together and sending sparks along Phil’s spine. He groans into Clint’s mouth and pulls back, staring into blue eyes, and breathing heavily. He needs Clint inside of him right now. This is where their former handler-asset relationship comes in handy, because without any prompting, Clint knows it’s time to quit playing. He settles between Phil’s legs, spreads some more lube and pushes inside.

Phil stops breathing for a moment and his fingers dig to Clint’s ass. He’s afraid that he was too impatient, because Clint feels enormous and the burn is hovering on the edge of actual discomfort, but when Clint pauses, it is just all good, the amazing feel of being filled and stretched open and owned. He pulls Clint forward, breath escaping him in something that might be a sob as Clint rams the last few inches into him in one fast and powerful motion. They stay there for a while, Clint breathing into hollow of his neck; then he straightens, grabs the handles of the seat and starts moving.

Now, Phil can really appreciate the seat. He doesn’t remember ever having such a great display of Clint’s body during sex. He leans further back for an even better view. Clint is sweating and his skin glistens in the low evening light, his suntan giving extra definition to his muscles. He’s supporting himself with his arms spread wide, abdomen taut, hips thrusting in a steady pace. Clint’s eyes are closed and his mouth is open, letting out tiny grunts each time he shoves forward. As if sensing Phil’s devouring gaze, Clint opens his eyes. He looks at Phil, smiles dissolutely, and without losing a beat, he very deliberately flexes his pecs and shoulders,- every muscle in his upper body ripples.

“You’re… such… a show off,” Phil puffs out in between being hammered into, but he can't quite hide the affection in his voice. And isn’t he damn affected now, because Clint has tilted his hips and is hitting Phil’s prostate with every thrust. Phil gasps and throws his head back, grips the arm rests and just rides the wave of pleasure that surges from his loins. Phil realizes he is moaning. He is near, so near, and all he needs now is few strokes to send him over the edge. Something creaks, but Phil cannot care about that now. “Harder, just.. fuck, please… Clint, harder…”, his voice is stuttering and he’s just about to reach for his cock when there is loud crack and the seat collapses under them.

It takes a couple of seconds for Phil to understand what happened. They are laying on top of the chair pieces on the floor. Clint is sprawled on top on him, making choked sounds and convulsing. Phil almost panics before he realises that the reason Clint is having trouble breathing, is because he is laughing so hard. Clint slips out of him, gets up and helps Phil to his feet, still laughing with tears running down his cheeks.

“You forgot to tighten the bolts? Again?” Phil draws Clint to his arms and can’t help guffawing. He should maybe be angry, but neither of them are hurt and it’s just too funny. 

Clint moves his hands down Phil’s back and takes a firm grip on his butt, “At least this time we aren’t stuck naked in the Helicarrier engine room. And I still say it was Natasha who loosened that strut.” Phil groans,– partly at the memory and partly because Clint is hard against him and biting his collarbone through fabric.

“I suggest we take this to the bed.” He says hoarsely, grasping firmly at Clint’s erection and starting to push him forwards. “Tomorrow morning we’ll put that thing back together and give it a proper christening.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. I'm very happy of any kind of feedback.


End file.
